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Long delay

I’ve had a bit of time to dwell in my thoughts within the last 24 hours, finally, since I have a nice break away from school and work. This free time hasn’t been fully advantageous, but it’s been very welcome.
Within this time, I had my thoughts and my mentality thoroughly challenged in a very honest and empathetic way–a way that I needed. One person has done this, and, if that person reads this, then that person will know that “I thank you, Mr. Sexy Pants.” I love bromances.
Anyway, though my entire plan that I had structured a few weeks prior won’t be fully expressed, the lengths and wants which I will still obtain far outweigh the unreachable ones. I will earn enough money for school, I will have much more time for school, and I will also have much more free time for my freelance work; the exact schedule I has planned looks to be on track in line with my prior expectations. Indubitably, I’m very excited. I’m also fighting against myself to strengthen my mental integrity along with my emotional awareness. I really shouldn’t be framing my perspective around those who hate their own lives. It won’t help by being surrounded by those mindsets, especially since Marshall is engulfed in that mentality, but my sanity is at stake.
What can I say, reader? I can definitely say that, “Idiocy is easy to ignore.”
Here’s hopin’.


The people…

This is an impromptu writing I did while working. Even better yet, it was while I was driving. But, it fits the city of Marshall perfectly. 


The people. These people. undertoned with corruption and false pretense. But, they’re not evil, or even bad; intentionally. This village takes them, and breaks them, quietly, like a puppy in training, and the result grants a similar mindless dedication.

This village. What a horrendous place for a brain. Maybe not, with all these minds here, numbering around twelve thousand, they seem to gallivant freely and thoughtless daily. With such an easy life, why complain? Indeed, who is one mind against a sea of following leaders and opinionaters with rephrased results? To blend is to succeed in this village. This village, drearily mild and equally succumbing, stupors the mind into an easy medium for transactive interaction.

what’s one mind? In this village, anyway. Why strive for excellence when blind dedication is more rewarding? The humps in the roads of this village are as negatively fruitful as the forks in them.

Daily routine leaks from this village, oh this village, set in a stone that would impress even Moses, and leave a far more numbingly bitter oral residue. And the residue! Potent and prickly, it binds to words as a contagion would, swiftly and quietly attacking minds, and puppeteering with a gay abandon reserved for puppeteers.

This village; an easy life. Ups and downs like any other, with a hint of malice and misdemeanor. Any mind can meld with ease into this frothy and foreboding life without focal points or frictioned intention. This life. An easy village–perfectly synonymous are these two nouns now; I may taste that prickly residue now…

My brain hurts. Almost literally. It’s highly illogical for me to say that, since the brain doesn’t have pain receptors. Damn it, though, it hurts. I have a major and legitimate complaint about how television is a massive corruption, and I’m going to do my damnedest to not make it cliche or overbearing.
Glee. Oh my god. Glee. Why? Everyone is a dramatic. Is this a standard? What sort of boat did I miss in high school? The one made of broken dreams that floats down the Drama River; this river is real, it flows parallel to “de Nile.” Every character is a sociopath, and the show is glamorously perceived as brilliant television. Musicals are expressive and respectable, but filling a talented stereotype, of sorts, with vulgar dramatization is unfair, unjust, and equally disconcerting (pun intended).
This is different from watching a person shoot another person. Laws forbid acts like that, so excuses can’t happen, and the behavior of a homicidal person is not instilled through childhood upbringing. Why the hell would telling, or singing to, kids now with mentally unhealthy standards of singing to sonograms and making an infatuated student cook your wife dinner? This looming hatred toward this lack of standard is keeping me awake far too late, especially since I have to work again in 5 hours.
The singers are talented beyond measure. The message is far too clear: “life has to be this way.” It’s already out there. What can we do? Warn our families. Hide your kids and hide your wife; they’re dramatizing everything. The media and the “glow box” have the digital herpes. Much like donuts to hips, it will go straight to your brain, reader. It’s the only one you have. And no one wants to read “anti-whatever” writings about things that don’t matter. Believe me, being this irritated about Glee is definitely lowering my standards of mental content.
If only the singing could be separated from the bad and maltreated acting. Help find a cure.
And have your drama kings and queens spade and neutered, reader. They travel in packs. Or, perhaps, like crows, in murders.
Look, now I’m bantering. Good night, and don’t watch that which rots your brain. Walmart doesn’t carry replacement brains yet.

Counteractive reasoning

Multiple times in my life, I’ve been asked for advice. More often than not, that advice is not accepted, or even the advice is ignored. It’s a bit frustrating, since I would like my views respected. I’m sure not utilizing my thoughts isn’t a direct disrespect, but it’s hard not to perceive that without having justification.

Probably the most common scenario where this sort of situation resides is one about relationship issues. One asks a third party perspective to assist, and one finds a reason to not use the advice. It could be an attempt to find a cognitive dissonance to the situation. One “reasonable” notion created by Social Psychology would be that one could potentially be reasoning out potential options, as in other people with whom one could have a relationship, or one may even try to reason out all of the past events throughout the said relationship. It seems like a bunch of fooey, but when one seeks that sort of justification, the ends can’t justify the means. It’s tragic to know that people endure such behavior for acceptance for the entirety of their lives.

What can one do? Potentially instead of seeing the best in the worst, one could take the advice of a friend and see the worst in the “best.” One can only seek one’s own good in a situation like that. If it comes down to it, however, it’s best to know who one’s friends are and it’s even better to not disregard those who has one’s best interest in mind. Don’t forget, reader, that your friends value you and won’t tell you that you aren’t worth your while or the right of free thought.

Unless you are thinking of going to a Vikings game. 🙂

The more time I spend thinking about organizing thoughts and ideals is less time dedicated to my following. To what end can this possibly lead without any guidance?
All of my obligations are fighting for one time slot, but only one is giving me progress to my future; that doesn’t exclude my other options, but a guaranteed potential seems better than a vague one. But vague work brings about experience, and I need that shit in spades!
Mid afternoon is my prime time for education, and I can’t manipulate my schedule to be anything else; in fact, two classes are overlapped for me in the same time slot. I need some cooperation, and I’m going to be forcing it from my job.
Speaking of which, I’m very excited to tell my boss that my future is being hindered by this job. Oh man, it may be hard for her to see potential outside of this charming little drama-gossip hole called Marshall, MN. But, I gave up a year of my intended education time to help her, and I’ve received maltreatment and disrespect. I’m not obligated slightly. I want my life fully engrossed in school and PSU.
Next semester will be constrained with time, but I know what I want and where I want my time dedicated. Here’s to a better upcoming semester.

Frustration block

A combination of aspects within my life are almost forcing me to be close minded and not ambitious. I run between school, work, and Playstation Universe, and I don’t have time for me or my muse. Surely, I signed up for all of this, in a sense. So, why do I complain?
I need money, and the only place I’m earning it is through my stupid ass job at Jimmy John’s. I need my education, and SMSU is the only venue in which I’m learning. I also need credibility, and I’m earning that through PSU. But, what can I do with only 24 hours in a day? I can only cut back my hours at work to help divide my resources. The thought doesn’t elude me even slightly, but I also am no longer receiving tip money, since all I’m currently good for is being an underpaid manager that watches all the terrible delivery drivers earn all the money in the world.
I suppose my biggest issue would be of circumstance. Too much happening at once, but all of those things are important to my sustainability. On the other hand, I have my mental integrity to consider. Since my “father” is a schizophrenic, I’m 12 times more susceptible to becoming a schizophrenic. Every day, I think about this. I don’t know how I could handle losing my cognitive functioning to something that would disillusion me so very terribly; the prime time for it to occur is in my age group.
On top of all of this, I haven’t had respect at my job since late summer. While I was on vacation with my muse in Wisconsin, someone at work gossiped that Crystal started rumors about, well, something or other that was “a big deal.” We hadn’t had a vacation in 15 years, and this was how we were received upon return. Our boss even chewed out Crystal without proof or credibility for “doing what she did,” and though she said everyone needed a chewing, our boss never said anything else to anyone on the subject. A month before, we had helped reopen our store after a major storm, and we did it without pay. I can’t come back to my former mindset after that scenario.
Everyday I think and ponder, and everyday I worry and fret about what I should be doing. I’m bond myself leading me, who is also blind, and I’m not getting anywhere. Always a deficiency here, always a problem there, and I can’t dedicate my time to the things I want to do, like write and game. Sure, I play games for PSU, but that takes up the three hours of free time I have in a day. Which is fine, I suppose. I want all of this. I really do.
Maybe I should find a way to healthily sleep less. It’s only MY sanity. It’s obviously not appreciable enough to consider in the long run.
That’s an unfair statement. I can’t expect everyone to know why I’m so paranoid or antisocial. And I don’t exactly go out on a limb to know how others are doing either. So, I deserve it, I’m sure.
But, reader, don’t be surprised if I call you “sir” or “ma’am.” If I’m at arm’s length, you will be as well.

Questioning my maturity

I don’t want to start this inappropriately. The subject matter is very serious, in that the matter is the novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Anyway, I was heavily overthrown when I reached chapter 5. I am enjoying this book, especially since it shows how our culture was in the past and how cruel and uncensured it was during such a hypocritical and negatively harmful time.
Now, unfortunately, is where the point of this post arises. Halfway down the first page of chapter five was a sentence that caught me inappropriately: “There was great running and ejaculating.” I hit an all time high in terms of frustration with myself. Usually my standards are much more particular than that. Instead of laughing at the sheer randomness of the word which was contextually appropriate at the time of the writing, I became angry with myself for being so taken aback by one word.
I truthfully hope that you, the reader, are far less disappointed in me as I am in myself.

How very welcome are the little quirks and nuances that accompany a closely knit community. Of course, I say this with the harshest of sarcasm.
Whether it’s due to glares by drivers has they pass maliciously or if it’s the rude and judgmental stolen glaces, the sheer unspoken criticism can only be justified with a thought about self betterment. In other words, regard other so lowly that one looks superior.
The small talk here is huge. Guess what she did? And she has one of those? She WHAT!? A career? Ha! What does that even mean?
With that previous excursion, I wish that I had exaggerated.
So many people here have declared this town a superb place to raise a child. Everyone here is beyond civil, and the social upbringing is far too lax to create a justifiable group of individuals, let alone raise children in a similar fashion. I worry about these kids, but they don’t regard a healthier or smarter route. And neither do the parents. It’s unfortunate, but I’m ecstatic that the kids with determination and sellable skills leave this place for better lives.
Thanks, readers. And please stay away from Marshall, MN.

A behavior for me that’s almost instinctive is my habit where I refer to everyone formally. I know that less than half of those whom I have referred to as “sir” or “ma’am” deserve it, but it’s much easier for me to speak that way.
Sure, I can credit my upbringing, but that’s only part of it. Children of single parents think differently, especially when family is all one has during youth. Weeding through social workers who “understood” our situation, because they had seen our situation before; how often does a mother come in with two cognitive children who want to be legally detached from the fear of an unpredictable schizophrenic father? Since schizophrenia only affects 2% of the population, and we lived in Worthington, MN (get it? The city is insubstantial), the chances of appreciating our situation were slim.
After years of that, after years of my father relapsing due to bad decisions, and after years of being alone with only my family, I can’t do much else but keep everyone away.
My search for companionship hasn’t been without its successes. I have a great muse, I have a few close friends in relative terms, and I openly speak with strangers from school and work in friendly and welcoming manners. But I won’t open to people, not without thorough justification. Too many friends have burned me. Take, for example, one such former friend from Marshall. I respected her and we associated all the time for billiards and bowling outside of work. All the while, she spooky ill of my muse frequently behind my back; I never heard until after the next piece of story.
For the longest time, she complained about work and said that she wanted a new job. All of that talk stopped abruptly one day, and a month later she was gone. My boss told us that she had given a month notice and she didn’t want anyone to know that she was leaving.  So, I had to pick up her slack. She heard about my “promotion,” and she congratulated me. Congratulated me! I haven’t spoken to her since then, and I look upon her during our random encounters at Walmart with such a harsh and unhealthy disdain.
I don’t fit into the American standard of friendliness. In fact, I hate it. It’s not all bad. I know who I trust, and that doesn’t really need to change. But, I constantly catch flack for referring to people formally. It keeps people at arm’s length for analysis. And the internet friendliness bothers me even more. Social interaction is one filter, and the internet is another. It stings when someone tells me to not call them something proper, because I’m being forced out of personal comfort.
I want the interaction, but I also don’t want to explain my behavior. Being professional is usually treated shallowly and left by the way side, and I’d much rather have that than to be forced to lie and call a stranger a friend.

Almost daily, I come across a distraction that’s been induced by my muse, of all things. She is far more capable of multitasking, so she runs her computer and Netflix on top of chatting with people. When I am faced between the priority of writing and the negligence of watching TV, I can’t help but be forced to watch the blasted television.
Even with a high priority for writing, I become deterred by the slightest, and usually very cliche and stupid, things that make noise, like bad television shows on Netflix. I know they’re bad, but I am engrossed in a very negative sense, since I can no longer think properly. Shows like Degrassi and Ugly Betty grab FAR too much of my attention and numb my brain worse than the most severe of colds.
But, what can I do? The only time I have with my muse nowadays is when we’re working on our particular projects in our living room, and I don’t want to miss those opportunities. However, I also need to achieve my goals and that requires time and effort; concentration is above all the most important, but Netflix ruins my plans. Maybe some music? It’s worked before, but it’s inconsistent, since I can still see the TV. Maybe a directional change for my desk?
Wow. I thought with my writing. I literally stopped for 10 seconds, and I thoroughly contemplated that notion of changing the setup. The potential is there, and I really am a bit flapped by my thought process through here, and you, the reader, were on the front lines to a potential living room redecorating.
Nothing will be comparable to this moment for you, reader, I assure you. 🙂
Thank you for appreciating my satire, and most definitely feel free to comment on my thoughts, or even give me ideas as to how the living room could be redecorated to accommodate my mentally distracted needs.